Incomplete
(Blood On My Hands - Hans Zimmer)
”I wasn’t finished yet.”
It looked like a rather ordinary silver pocket watch, at least upon any initial investigation. Closer inspection revealed the frosted metal bore the pock marks and creases of ice crystals, giving the surface of the timepiece an odd texture beneath one’s fingertips.
In truth, the watch was ancient, certainly the oldest of its kind, and the majority of its time was spent in luxury, cradled on a bed of burgandy-colored velvet that was protected on all sides by a box made from dark, richly stained wood.
The man didn’t wear a time-piece for most of the year, but certain aspects of his job demanded a modicum of timeliness. He sat in a old, weathered rocking chair, casually sipping from a small glass in his right hand, eyeing the horizon all the while. The long days of blue skies and portly, cotton ball clouds had finally started to give way to the uneven blanket of stone and iron that now stretched from horizon to horizon, and as the first stinging winds of a too-cool evening began tousling his hair, he knew that the pocket watch’s time had come once again.
There had been other instances, of course. He had been up and down from his chair a number of times over the last few several weeks, each time premature. Now, however, he was certain, so certain that he completely missed the sudden appearance of the woman by his side.
He stopped, his hand halfway into the box that contained the watch, slowly turning his head to regard her. “Excuse me?”
”I said I wasn’t finished yet,” she replied evenly, gesturing to his chair. “You’ve been up and down from that thing over and over again lately, and it’s thrown off the work I’ve been doing.” She made a face, glancing out at the world around them. “These things happen in their own time, after all. You taught me that.”
The old man smiled a little, nodding his head in apology. “Guilty as charged. Still, I’m afraid I’m up for good this time. At least for the for the duration of my stay.” HIs smile faltered as his eyes left her face and fixed themselves on the sky again. “I’m sorry about the false starts. It’s...not as easy to hear your mother as it used to be.” The woman rested her hand on his arm, her usually emotionless face softening. “That’s not your fault. It’s louder here than it once was.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured in reply. “One might think that meant paying closer attention to your mother was in order.” Then he smiled again, this time ruefully. “Though, to hear her tell it, we should have been doing that from the beginning.” His hand closed around the pocket watch. “There’s time for that later though. For now, there’s work to be done.” The woman nodded once and stepped back, her face sliding back into neutrality. “So be it.”
The man pulled the watch fully from the box and with a practiced motion, snapped its face open. Inside, countless tiny hands whirled around faces that constantly swam in and out of focus, looking all the world like a tiny blizzard in his palm. A moment later, he snapped it closed again and straightened his shoulders. “I hear you now,” he whispered to the wind, and a moment later, he vanished.
The woman grimaced a little as the wind began to pick up, turning her body away from the sudden torrent. “Time for bed,” she deadpanned. Then she, too, disappeared, leaving a small swirl of leaves in her wake.
”I wasn’t finished yet.”
It looked like a rather ordinary silver pocket watch, at least upon any initial investigation. Closer inspection revealed the frosted metal bore the pock marks and creases of ice crystals, giving the surface of the timepiece an odd texture beneath one’s fingertips.
In truth, the watch was ancient, certainly the oldest of its kind, and the majority of its time was spent in luxury, cradled on a bed of burgandy-colored velvet that was protected on all sides by a box made from dark, richly stained wood.
The man didn’t wear a time-piece for most of the year, but certain aspects of his job demanded a modicum of timeliness. He sat in a old, weathered rocking chair, casually sipping from a small glass in his right hand, eyeing the horizon all the while. The long days of blue skies and portly, cotton ball clouds had finally started to give way to the uneven blanket of stone and iron that now stretched from horizon to horizon, and as the first stinging winds of a too-cool evening began tousling his hair, he knew that the pocket watch’s time had come once again.
There had been other instances, of course. He had been up and down from his chair a number of times over the last few several weeks, each time premature. Now, however, he was certain, so certain that he completely missed the sudden appearance of the woman by his side.
He stopped, his hand halfway into the box that contained the watch, slowly turning his head to regard her. “Excuse me?”
”I said I wasn’t finished yet,” she replied evenly, gesturing to his chair. “You’ve been up and down from that thing over and over again lately, and it’s thrown off the work I’ve been doing.” She made a face, glancing out at the world around them. “These things happen in their own time, after all. You taught me that.”
The old man smiled a little, nodding his head in apology. “Guilty as charged. Still, I’m afraid I’m up for good this time. At least for the for the duration of my stay.” HIs smile faltered as his eyes left her face and fixed themselves on the sky again. “I’m sorry about the false starts. It’s...not as easy to hear your mother as it used to be.” The woman rested her hand on his arm, her usually emotionless face softening. “That’s not your fault. It’s louder here than it once was.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured in reply. “One might think that meant paying closer attention to your mother was in order.” Then he smiled again, this time ruefully. “Though, to hear her tell it, we should have been doing that from the beginning.” His hand closed around the pocket watch. “There’s time for that later though. For now, there’s work to be done.” The woman nodded once and stepped back, her face sliding back into neutrality. “So be it.”
The man pulled the watch fully from the box and with a practiced motion, snapped its face open. Inside, countless tiny hands whirled around faces that constantly swam in and out of focus, looking all the world like a tiny blizzard in his palm. A moment later, he snapped it closed again and straightened his shoulders. “I hear you now,” he whispered to the wind, and a moment later, he vanished.
The woman grimaced a little as the wind began to pick up, turning her body away from the sudden torrent. “Time for bed,” she deadpanned. Then she, too, disappeared, leaving a small swirl of leaves in her wake.
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